Chess
by wrightworthtrash
Summary: Black and white. Green and grey. Potter and Malfoy. The Golden Trio return to Hogwarts for their Eighth year, but Harry can't help but feel a strange attraction to the Malfoy heir. The two boys play against - or, even with each other, but they soon realise that maybe they're the ones being played. Eventual H/D, slow burn. Features H/R. Please review!


The walls of Hogwarts never looked quite the same.

That's not to say that the way the autumn morning light hit the cobblestones had changed; the sun still struck the aged, faded stone as it had done for centuries previous and surely would years for come and illuminated every single speck of dust that flew around in flurries and never quite seemed to want to rest. Every single crack remained ingrained, both old and painfully new, that served to remind people of the hardships Hogwarts had faced.

As each student filtered in to the Great Hall for breakfast on the second day of term, there seemed to be an indescribable _hush_ that fell across each innocent soul that congregated within those very walls as they at least attempted to assemble some sense of normality. After all, that's what everyone else had been doing. The Ministry of Magic had allowed Hogwarts to stay open - after extensive repairs to most of the building, of course - and the students who had not had the chance to take their N.E.W.T.s had been invited back. It was the least that Headmistress McGonagall could do; she believed that even after such tragedy that had befallen the school in the fight for Wizarding freedom, the current Eighth-years shouldn't be denied a chance to complete their education.

There were those who had died. Though they missed them, the other students had come to grips with the fact that they would never see their dorm-mates, friends, Potions partners ever again. Naturally, there had been many denials of return on account of bad memories of the Battle of Hogwarts and the run-up to the Battle. The Patil twins both withdrew - because of their parents or of their own accord, the rest didn't know - as well as many Slytherin students simply because they had lost. Considering the year had only had forty students to begin with, to say they were depleted would be an understatement.

One specific head in the Hall stood out to many; unkempt black hair that shot off in curls in every direction, a withered expression, eyes that remained glued to the Gryffindor house table. His scar was still there - faded, but still there - and considering the husk of an exterior that he was nowadays, was the only true identifying factor of the Saviour. Yes, the Great Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, was back. He had caused quite a flurry on the first day back as people were absolutely convinced that he would go straight into the Auror program, or even straight to Deputy Minister! Harry had laughed dryly at that: apparently, killing a psychopath entitled you immediate power, according to those people. Truth was, he had been offered a place in the Auror program, but he couldn't stand the thought of having to hurt more people, whether or not they were guilty. Every time he picked up his wand, - well, Draco's wand - he felt an immediate repulsion as he remembered every single detail of the Battle. The _thump_ of bodies falling all around him, the wailing of families mourning the people they loved, the hideous cackle of Voldemort as he cast his final curse. Harry knew that so many people had died for _him_. He was supposed to be a martyr figure, but when so many people were dead because _he_ brought them into this mess, how was he supposed to be a hero?

He was anything but a Saviour.

'… _Harry!_ ' a person whispered urgently to his left. He snapped his head up at the intrusion, gasping for breaths, prepared to give yet another adoring fan a piece of his mind, when he saw the wild brunette curls in his periphery. Hermione. His breathing shallowed, but he was still on edge. He angled his body slightly towards her, but never allowed his shoulders to roll back. She caught his eyes with a wide-eyed concern. 'Harry, you have to at least _try_ to eat something.' she whispered cautiously. Harry shook his head. Almost everything he had tried to force down in the past few months had come back up accompanied by cold sweats on the floor.

''Mione…' he croaked back, 'I can't.'.

Hermione nodded slowly in resignation. It had been four months to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts, and she and Ron had desperately tried to help their friend. They got him out of bed each morning. They tried to do things with him that Harry used to love and fall over himself for (Hermione recalled an incident two months previously that saw her fall off a broom in an attempt to lure Harry out for some Quidditch), but nothing was working. If anything, he just got more and more gaunt by the day, and she swore that sometimes she could see the spirits of those lost haunting him behind his emerald green eyes. She felt Ron's arm snake around her waist comfortingly, and she rested her head into his shoulder as she felt pinpricks in her eyes that betrayed her collected exterior.

'Shhhh…' Ron whispered soothingly into her bushy hair, holding her closer to him. She blinked rapidly. She was _not_ going to fall apart at breakfast, for Merlin's sake. As she wiped her eyes of any traitorous tears that might have escaped, she responded in a voice that sounded like it would break any second, 'It's just… we've tried so hard, and he's…' she trailed off, staring at Harry who had once again returned to his private shell.

Ron didn't have to know what she was trying to say. He already knew. He was continually ripped apart by seeing his best friend suffering so much. He was also angry; angry at the Ministry, at Dumbledore, for allowing a boy who wasn't even _eighteen_ yet to defeat the worst threat to Wizardkind ever known. They hadn't thought of the consequences; how Harry could barely walk more than a few hundred metres before collapsing as a result of his mind and body being exhausted from the memories. The toll on his mental health so bad that most days he didn't even get out of bed.

He kissed her gently on the top of her head, and attempted to make other conversation.

'So,' he began, clearing his throat to indicate to Harry that he wanted him in the conversation, 'I'm sure Charms will be mental this year, what with Seamus deciding he wants to take the N.E.W.T! Bloody hell, he couldn't charm a rat's arse if he tried.' he said, leaning over to playfully cuff Finnigan on the back of the head. Seamus, sat three seats down from him, made a noise of mock indignation, and countered,

'Well, at least I don't have to put up with yous in Potions - I think that new Professor would be ragin' if we got up to what we did last year.'

'Come on, Finnigan, the green hair went _wonderfully_ with your eyes!' Ron jested back.

'Yeah, but not with the hiccoughing solution! Swear to God, I looked like a feckin' gnome, jumpin' all 'round the place!' Seamus joked to those around him, who burst out into varying degrees on laughter.

Ron glanced over at Harry; he could swear that he had a tiny smirk on his lips, but that could just be his imagination. He prodded Hermione gently, who also looked over.

'Baby steps…' he said quietly, smiling down into Hermione's big brown eyes.

All of a sudden, the doors of the Great Hall clattered open with an almighty bang, causing Ron to rip his gaze away. He noticed that everyone was looking at the entrance with expressions of disbelief, disgust, and from the Slytherin table, delight. Even _Harry_ had broken his reverie to glance up, and the expression on his face was unreadable to Ron. He whipped his head around and gasped quietly.

'Bloody hell.'

There, at the entrance, stood Draco Malfoy.

The platinum blonde stood still for a moment, absorbing the silence dedicated to him, looking around the room from table to table with practiced indifference, before walking to the Slytherin in long strides.

The second that he had sat down, the room erupted into noise, panicked whispers echoing around the halls. He could pick out many ' _how dare he_ 's, as well as ' _why is he back_ 's, and even the occasional ' _it's because of his trial_ '. Granted, Harry offering his testimony at his trial was almost definitely the reason that Malfoy was still a free man, but Ron thought that hardly counted as an apology to the whole school.

'I can't believe this.' he began determinedly, 'That _ferret_ thinks he has the right to waltz back in here after all he's done. I know that Harry may have pardoned him but Merlin, if he thinks he's safe here, he's got another thing coming.' he ranted, and was affirmed by nods from all along the Gryffindor table.

'Ron.' came a hoarse voice to his right. He whipped his head around, stunned. Harry was staring him straight in the eye, brow slightly furrowed. 'Enough.' he said firmly, before whipping his head around to look over his shoulder at the Prince of Slytherin, who was animatedly chatting with a Seventh year.

Hermione stared up at Ron, stunned. Ron was equally perplexed.

'Well,' she started, 'who knew that it would take _Malfoy_ , of all people.'

Ron shook his head in disbelief.

'Baby steps.' he whispered back.


End file.
